Slouching Towards Bethlehem
by Tara1189
Summary: He thought maybe if he held on to her tightly enough, that he could stand between her and her fate. He never stopped to think that he might be the catalyst.
1. Waiting

**Author's Note: My first Star Wars fic, and one that has been sitting around in my head for ages just waiting for the time to be written. Less a story and more a series of vignettes (the length will vary) taking place within the Revenge of the Sith timeline. These won't be posted in chronological order, but by the end should hopefully come together to form a cohesive whole. I'm not sure how many chapters this will contain, but it will probably depend largely on the feedback. So if you like it, review.**

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**Slouching Toward Bethlehem**

_Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; _

_Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, _

_The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere _

_The ceremony of innocence is drowned; _

_The best lack all conviction, while the worst _

_Are full of passionate intensity._

(William Butler Yeats – _The Second Coming_)

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* * *

**

Waiting

It rains incessantly.

Half mesmerised, Senator Amidala watches the droplets pounding against the balcony railing and leaving silvered rivulets on the metal. Some fall on her bare arms, not cold, but warm. This is no longer unusual. The city blurs before her gaze, a rising sea of fire and glass. She tilts her head back, looking up at the sky, or what she can see of it.

Her apartment is many storeys up, higher indeed than most of the city can boast, but it would take a power greater than hers to discern what is happening beyond those lowering clouds that hover over Coruscant, a smokescreen mirroring a confusion that has spread across the entire Galaxy. She lifts her face up, feeling the rain soak through her in a baptism of pain. It is heated no doubt by the fires of war taking place above the clouds. Every now and then, she can descry red flares streaking across the dark grey sky. There is no way of knowing what it means, small victory or substantial defeat, only the dark tedium of hours before the result of this skirmish will be discussed in detail in the next Senate meeting.

It reminds her of looking up at the stars, only to know that they have probably died long ago, it is only their light that is visible years after they have burned out.

There is something restless and unsettled in her soul tonight. The city is too quiet. Unnerving. In spite of the rain, the atmosphere is stifling and oppressive, the kind of brooding, slumbering expectancy that normally precedes a storm. The rainfall causes steam to rise from the traffic below, and her curling hair has begun to frizz slightly at the ends. Although the warmth is verging on oppressive, she shivers in her thin nightgown, the natural Nubian material a far cry from the opulence of her usual wardrobe. Her fingers pluck at the light fabric, its pastel shades seeming woefully out of place in this terrible world with its hard colours of metal and blood and fire.

But oh, there is not fire enough in the world that could warm her until he returns.

Padme tightens her hold on the cool metal as the dream she sought to escape curls around the dark places in her memory. Night after night her sleep is disturbed by hauntingly erotic dreams. They are always the same, yet so very different. _He _is in them of course, waiting for her with a smouldering intensity; his cerulean eyes the most vivid thing in this dark world. Then nothing but blurring pleasure and darkness, a sensual mouth moving over her own and breathing in her ears, thick and heavy, her hands entwining in the coverlets. How often she has awoken to find only a cold, empty room, her heart pounding with a fierce and ungovernable yearning. Then she tries to sleep once more, because she feels more vividly alive in the dream-world than in the real one.

Anakin Skywalker. Her knight, her lover, her handsome death. He is steel and flame, her salvation and destruction. Protected by leather armour and an arrogant smirk that dances the edge of danger before diving headlong in. It has been nearly six months since she last set eyes on him. No news other than whispers and snatches she can glean from the Holonet, always careful not to show too much interest.

_Where are you, _she wonders helplessly.

Beneath her, momentarily, the ground rolls like thunder.

When she looks up again, something – a shadow, a ripple – moves in the corners of her vision. She turns quickly, a ridiculous hope rising within her. Of course, it is only her handmaid, smiling with a kindness that does not quite hide the concern in her eyes. Padme feels her chest contract in disappointment, her heart breaking just that little bit more. However, she covers her fractured soul with a brittle smile. Old routine, long practised. The Senate has taught her well.

"Is everything alright, Milady?"

The air swims and she feels dizzy; it takes a moment to catch what her handmaid is saying.

"Yes, thank you, Dorme. I merely wished for a little air."

She wonders if the lie is convincing. It hardly matters. The pain of missing Anakin is one she must endure alone within her own private world, and it is a world she is not yet willing to let her handmaid have a glimpse inside.

Dorme, the only third person to know of their marriage. Padme was reluctant to divulge the secret at first; she is such an intensely private person that she has trained herself never to disclose any information, personal matters least of all. But Dorme was already suspicious. Anakin's frequent visits, her mistress's secretive behaviour led her to confront her mistress directly.

She could have denied it, of course. After all, with the military and political situation Anakin is absent far more than he is present and her behaviour she could chalk up to the fact that her duties were taking their toll. However, she knows that her handmaid, when her curiosity is piqued, will leave no stone unturned in trying to solve the mystery, but trust her with a secret and she will guard it with her life.

"Where is Threepio?" Padme asks. Her voice is calm and cool. Fragments of everyday conversation they have all begun to fall back on, to persuade themselves that life still holds some kind of normalcy.

"I sent him on an errand. I thought you would want some peace and quiet."

Padme smiles slightly. "He's an excellent droid. Anakin made him himself, you know. But he can be a little –"

"Overzealous?" suggests Dorme.

"Yes."

Her handmaid comes towards her then, her hood drawn up against the soldering rain. The sapphire shade accentuates the vivid blue of her eyes, and why that particular colour should cause Padme such a thick, constricting sensation of ethereal pain she chooses not to consider.

"You need to look after yourself, Milady." Dorme's voice is almost lost in the harsh, unremitting downpour, the clang of water on metal. "If not for own sake, then at least for your baby's."

Padme shivers then, although she is never normally a person who shivers, or trembles. She focuses her gaze on a Speeder that passes just below her balcony and concentrates on breathing slowly, the completeness of it. The air is stifling; it feels like she is inhaling ashes.

It had been impossible to hide the pregnancy from Dorme. The frequent nausea, the irrational mood swings had alerted her naturally astute handmaid to the situation a matter of days after she had discovered it herself.

Padme had cried when she first discovered her pregnancy. Overcome by fear, resentment and bitter anger, she had lain on her bed and sobbed in her husband's absence, willing the child growing inside her to disappear. But as the months passed, the fear and anxiety were fading in the wake of a fierce, ungovernable love for her unborn baby that frightens her with its intensity. She has never loved anything the way she loves this child. Her naturally caring nature is heightened and augmented, and she knows she would die a thousand deaths to protect it. In a gesture, new and uncommon to her, she slides a hand towards her stomach, feeling the unfamiliar swelling beneath a sea of silk.

A sudden, vivid flare illuminates the sky with frightening red light. Her hand stops mid-motion, the breath catching in her throat with shock. For a moment, it seems as though the city is bathed in blood. The illusion goes as quickly as it came; only a trick of the light after all, as the sky is already returning to black.

She knows there will be no dawn.


	2. The Unsleeping City

**The Unsleeping City**

That night, he dreamt again of blood and terror.

But this time, there was more, so much more. The whole world was on fire. He dreamt of flames leaping upward to lick towers of chrome and steel that rose into an infernal sky; he dreamt of searing pain channelled in rivers of lava that coursed through his veins; he dreamt of a voice screaming hatred and loss and despair in a tightly wound agony that swirled into a place without light… and through it all, her face, beauty ravaged by pain, the fires of hell reflected in her dying eyes. Helpless, he stood alone beneath an abyssal smoke-imbued firmament while the Galaxy burned.

Anakin jerked awake, his heart thudding wildly.

In his waking hours, he still saw the fires, so bright they hurt his eyes.

Drawing a robe around himself in a now-familiar movement of utmost quiet, he sought the retreat of the exterior balcony, unwilling to disturb Padme with his most recent nocturnal premonition. The glass door slid open and he stepped outside, the night air cool against his face. Cold here. Cold enough to wash away the flames incinerating him from within. Perhaps cold enough to purge the fires of his nature. The Jedi strode swiftly over to the edge of the balcony, leaning over and watching the hum of traffic passing by far below. Anakin wondered how many storeys up they were. He remembered as a Padawan watching Obi-Wan dive headlong from Padme's window in pursuit of a probe droid and wondered if this was how he had felt. Falling. Endlessly.

He had never particularly liked the noise and sleepless energy of Coruscant, but of late it was the only thing that remotely distracted him from the interim of awful emotions churning within him. Nothing – not the strict meditations he forced himself to adhere to, the attempts to tire himself out with physical training, nor the frequent excuses to go to the Chancellor's office in the hope of discovering more answers – had succeeded in clearing his mind of the constant fear that possessed him day and night.

Anakin had never felt like this before. He did not know how to handle it, or how to control it. Somehow, it was simpler when he was in battle. Then he could channel his fear and rage and sense of injustice to one fixed purpose at the point of his lightsaber, even though the Jedi were not meant to use such emotions when fighting – in fact, were not meant to use any emotions at all. Yoda had told him to let go of that which he had been afraid to lose, but Anakin could no more let go of Padme than feel his own arm cut off without pain.

He leaned heavily against the railing, trying to suppress the violent tremors in his body. The city lights wavered and danced before him in an unseen and meaningless haze. What did it all matter, in the end? He wasn't fighting for this planet, this political agenda, or even this Republic, not anymore. He was fighting for _her._

Moment by moment, time was slipping away while he stood here and did nothing. There was a solution right before him, and he hesitated to take it. It wasn't in Anakin's nature to blame himself, there had always been others he held accountable for the misfortunes and difficulties of his existence: Watto, the Jedi Council, Dooku, the politicians who had caused this war… but he couldn't blame them for this. It was him, only him.

Once again, he heard Palpatine's mellifluous voice in his head.

_Anakin, there is untapped power in you beyond that of any Jedi I have ever encountered. Power that many would kill to possess. To let such potential go to waste… your power is meant to be used. Do what you like with it. There is no evil in seeking knowledge if it is for benevolent purposes._

The Chancellor's words coincided eerily with his own desires, reinforcing that urgent need for action that was pounding through his body, his arms, his legs. He had always been impulsive, acting before thinking things through in the calm and rational manner of Obi-Wan. He didn't want to wait for things to happen, he wanted to _make _things happen. A whirring panic constantly at the back of his brain was an unfailing reminder of the last time he had ignored the prophetic warnings in his dreams until it was too late, and the resultant gnawing guilt that he could never escape from. Guilt that he _shouldn't _escape from. He had power – unlimited power, Palpatine seemed to think – and the thought that there might be other forces at work that he had no control over was more than he could bear. All his life he had been a slave – to Watto, to the Jedi Council – but this was one thing he could not simply sit back and accept, he _would not – _

He sensed her presence before he heard the gentle rustle of silk that betrayed her approach. The conflicting sensations rose within him as they always did when she was nearby: the calm reassurance that was the characteristic signature she left on the Force, and the deep-rooted pain and passionate intensity that was his fierce, ungovernable love for her. The two could never be reconciled; an ongoing war raging beneath his skin that she was entirely ignorant of.

"Ani…" Her voice was still heavy from sleep. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were asleep."

He didn't turn around, but could sense the anxiety radiating from her diminutive frame.

"It's been so many years," he murmured absently. "But I still can't get used to the cold."

Padme shook her head slightly, joining him to look out over the ledge. The cold metallic shade of her nightgown contrasted with the warm olive hue of her skin that was deepened and enhanced by the city lights. Anakin watched transfixed the play of shadows across her features that shrouded her eyes in ambivalence. Her small hands rested on the balcony railing; the tightly curled fingers would have betrayed her tension even if his proficiency with the Force had not. He wanted to rest his hand over hers, be the comfort and reassurance they both so desperately craved, but he could not. Fear and frustration clawed in his throat, sealing off his words. What use was all his strength, all his agility, if he couldn't save her from the one thing that threatened to take her from him?

"It's hotter now than it ever used to be." Her tone was soft, reflective. "The city doesn't sleep anymore. Everything's burning to be used for engines of war. Some nights I look up, and I can't even see the stars."

"They're still there."

"Will they be once the fighting is over? Sometimes I try to remember what things were like before the war, and I can't."

"It won't be forever." Flimsy words: weak and vague and useless. Padme was too direct, too honest to flinch away from harsh realities.

"Even if it does end – and I can't see how – things won't ever be the same. The Galactic Senate will have to be rebuilt –"

"Why?" demanded Anakin. He looked away from her, trying to fight down the unreasonable anger that was suddenly coursing through him. It was all too much. He just wanted someone to _blame, _to ease his uncertainty and self-reproach_. _"Why do we need to rebuild the Senate? The Senate's failings are what caused this war in the first place. We should remake the Republic entirely – make a _better _one." His voice was low and fierce. "A Republic where there isn't injustice and slavery. A Republic where we can be together without having to keep it a secret."

Padme pulled her hands away, looking up at him sharply. "Do you really believe that?" she asked swiftly.

Anakin tried to laugh, but it was a harsh, unpleasant sound. "I don't know. Sometimes. Don't you?"

"Anakin, what you're saying… it's sedition."

Of course. Padme, ever the loyalist – except towards the one politician who deserved her allegiance. No, Palpatine she persisted in distrusting even when the Chancellor had continued to show them both nothing but kindness and support. The injustice of it swelled within his chest, but that argument had taken place between them too many times, always ending with mutual dissatisfaction and resentment on both sides, neither one of them willing to back down. Anakin's eyes darkened with anger.

"Sedition?" He stalked across to the other side of the balcony, black cloak whipping round as he turned to face her accusingly. His hands, balled into fists, trembled violently beneath the voluminous sleeves of his robe. "You – you politicians are all the same. You think you know everything, but _you have no idea_. You sit protected in your steel and glass towers while all around you the Galaxy burns. I've seen entire planets destroyed and stood by and done nothing because I was obeying orders; I've seen slaves like my mother forced into service because they make up the numbers and no one cares whether they live or die; I've seen armies rise, and fall, and rise again, and witnessed the stars going out. So tell me: is this the great and noble Republic you're fighting for?"

He forcefully tried to suppress the outburst of violent emotion that was always so near the surface these days. He couldn't meet her gaze, the unbearable love and concern that made it all so much harder. He knew he didn't deserve it. If she only knew… watching those planets in flames… It had been terrible, yes, and horrifying, but beneath that there had been something like a fierce rush of exultant power within him, to witness destruction so vast and indomitable. For one fleeting instant, he had felt like a god. Of course, he could never tell her that. She would hate him for it.

"Why didn't you say any of this before? You never told me…"

"You didn't need to know."

She glared at him severely. Padme was never one to back down; it was a part of what made her so powerful and arresting a figure. She was resolute; an intriguing combination of steel-like hardness and impulsive warmth that had danced in constant interplay throughout their courtship and marriage. In the Senate, the immovable coldness was always uppermost. Now however, the compassionate woman who had railed against slavery and injustice had risen to the fore. In her expression was that softness that she tried so hard to hide from the public eye.

"Anakin, if something this painful, this terrible, is eating you up inside, I need to know. It doesn't matter how much you try and shut me out. I won't _be _shut out. I want to help you."

He clenched his jaw. "What if it's something you can't help me with?"

Padme's head jerked up, as she cast him a quick, searching look. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "I didn't mean anything."

Her brown curls danced in the unnatural breeze. He saw the sympathy in her eyes, but it seemed to reach him from a very great distance, like a far-off star. He couldn't quite feel it.

"I know things are awful," she said gently. "But we have to believe – believe that our baby will be born into a world where it can be safe."

Anakin felt an iron fist clench his heart. He gripped the metal railing, staring down at the war-imbued engines of Coruscant, the smoke and fire. All the way down.

_Let it just be born, _he thought wildly. _The Republic and the Separatists can fight across the Galaxy, the whole world can burn, but _she _must not die._

"I think I've had enough air for one night," he muttered, starting to make his way towards the glass doors of their bedroom.

"What's wrong?"

Her words brought him up short. Anakin closed his eyes but it didn't help; he could still picture her stood behind him, etched into the Force and into his heart. He turned to face her slowly, giving him time to adjust his face to that blank, impassive look usually reserved for his encounters with the Jedi Council. "Nothing's wrong."

Padme crossed her arms, unconvinced. There was an almost elastic erectness to her upright posture that belied the exhaustion he knew she was feeling so acutely. A brief memory flashed through his head of the fierce-eyed young woman wielding a blaster gun on Geonosis, making quips about 'aggressive negotiations' even while facing seemingly inevitable death. Anakin's mouth was pulled into a thin, taut line of determination and inward resolve. No, she could not die, never, never. The very idea was unthinkable.

"Every time I mention our baby now, you shut down."

"That's not true." He waited, wondering if she would accept the lie. Her face seemed to crumple slightly, losing its stern invulnerability, and she stared at him with a painful, unguarded expression in her eyes. Somehow, it was easier to face her when she was in full Senator regalia, because this vulnerability caused his heart to collapse within his chest.

"Are you – are you having second thoughts?"

"No!" There was no denying the sincerity in his vehement denial.

She slid a hand through his arm, looking up at him with confusion, Padme, who was always so certain about everything. "Why do I feel like you're slipping away from me?"

"I'm not," he said firmly. He stared at the swirling gold lights reflected in her brown eyes and felt himself falling ever deeper, eddying, drowning. "What I'm doing – it's _because _I love you and can't bear to live without you."

"Are you still having those dreams?" she asked abruptly.

He shrugged evasively, arm tensing in hers. "Sometimes."

"Anakin, if that's the reason you've been so distant lately…" Her eyebrows contracted in a delicate frown, and then smoothed out. "Sometimes, a dream is just a dream."

"I know that," he said. He wondered or a moment how she couldn't be as worried as he was, how the fear wasn't eating her up inside… then he realised. Padme had grown up with attempts on her life. Dreams were not as real to her as Blaster Guns or cloaked assassins or poisoned darts. She didn't share the Jedi conviction in the Force being able to communicate itself to the unconscious body. She had always been practical minded. If she couldn't see and touch a thing, it wasn't there. Anakin, on the other hand, could watch towers shatter into ruins and explosions of agonising light and feel nothing. Yet the thought of losing Padme made him want to thrust his hand into a fire.

She had moved away towards the glass doors, her profile a dark line against the metallic grey backdrop of the city. Her mass of curls was highlighted by the lights of passing traffic, her copper-hued skin backlit by the buildings opposite. Anakin felt caught, reeling between the twin desires of commandeering the nearest Speeder and tracking down Palpatine to gain more than hinted suggestions or subtle insinuations or merely taking the couple of steps forward that would enable him to run his fingers lightly over the bare, smooth skin of his wife's exposed shoulders.

The surge of animalistic desire must have flared within his eyes, as Padme visibly caught her breath. Combined with the electric and sulphur – the hot, heavy, city scents of Coruscant – Anakin could taste something else, a familiar dark and spicy tang that he could never tire of…

Desire. Desire for him_._ Padme's mouth curved into a half-shy, half-knowing smile that tugged at every clamouring nerve within his body, drawing him irresistibly towards her, aware only of that never-ending hunger that only she could assuage. It still seemed incredible that the stern, resolute and straight-laced Senator Amidala could be looking at _him_ so intently, her brown orbs darkening in such a way that even her closest advisors had never seen. Anakin's eyes followed the movement of her slender fingers pulling at a stray curl in an unconscious gesture that set his blood afire.

"Come back to bed," she said softly. "Let's try and forget all this for just one night, and make the most of the time we have together."

A sudden thought – like a flash of lightning – shot through his brain, startling in its lucid clarity.

"Wait," he said. "Let's just leave."

She stopped. Blinked. Stared at him uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"I mean it," Anakin continued, in a rush of impulsive fervour. This was the solution to it all: the uncertainty, the divided loyalties, the constant deception. This was it. A chance. His eyes were aglow with rekindled energy, the sheer desperation and desire to be _doing _something spilling into his hasty words. "Can't we just find a ship and leave, go to Naboo, or somewhere beyond the Outer Rim where no one could find us. You could have the baby, and –"

The impetuous idea that had leapt upon him so suddenly dwindled into nothingness as she continued to look at him sadly. Her serious brown eyes softened and she gave a small sigh. "Anakin, you know that's impossible. We have duties that keep us here, and I know you couldn't live with abandoning Obi-Wan and our friends to fight alone. The Galaxy needs both of us to end this war. Besides, we couldn't leave, even if we wished to. You're a Jedi, and I have my commitments to the Senate –"

His fist smote the railing, a dull pulse of pain throbbing through the flesh of his authentic hand. "I don't care. I'm just – I'm tired of it – all of it – the war, the Council… I don't know who to trust any more…"

"I know you're tired." Her soothing voice didn't soothe him in the least. "That's why you're talking like this. You're overworked, Ani. You put far too much pressure on yourself."

Anakin didn't answer. This wasn't merely a fleeting impulse, or exhaustion talking. Nobody had actually asked what would happen if they lost this war, and sometimes, he thought it couldn't be worse than this endless uncertainty. Surely nothing could be worse than this inter-Galactic darkness, the interludes of blood and tedious waiting, the inhabitants of Coruscant looking up to him as though he were some kind of hero instead of an overly impulsive Jedi who didn't give a damn about politics, or any of it, who cared only for a certain Senator who would be shocked to know how he really felt about this war.

But of course, he couldn't say _that._

Anakin released a shaky breath, drawing upon the calming exercises Obi-Wan had had such trouble instilling in him. He unfurled his hands, and noted with a kind of dispassionate relief that they had stopped shaking so violently. The stormy blue of his eyes had faded to calm sapphire when he could finally bring himself to speak. "You're right, of course." His words lacked the arrogant surety he normally conveyed. Maybe because he knew she wasn't right at all. And she would see that, soon enough.

He just prayed it wouldn't be too late when she did.


	3. After the Rain

**After the Rain**

The day the rain stopped, he came home.

There had been the sheer relief at their first encounter, cut short by the necessity of Anakin's duty to report to the Senate. Perhaps it had been for the best. It gave her time to compose her thoughts, and convince herself that she could act rationally in his presence.

Of course, that in itself was an irony, as nothing about her feelings towards Anakin was remotely rational. Her whole life was so ordered, regimented, as dark and glossy and smooth as the podiums in the Senate Council Chamber where she passed hour after unproductive hour. He was the only part of her existence she could not control or classify; a wild, chaotic anomaly that threw her intricately sustained illusion of composure out of orbit. Sometimes, she wondered why she had let this complication possess her so entirely, at others, she saw him as being the only thing that stopped her from going mad in her constricting, suffocating existence.

And so it was that Padme found herself on the floor outside the Chancellor's office, waiting, waiting in the wings. Ready to don the guise of the calm, cool Senator the moment the need arose. It was a role she had become familiar with. It occurred to her that her life had been reduced to two phases: the periods of speeches and strategies when there seemed not enough hours in the day to resolve the manifold issues conflicting the Senate followed by bouts of insurmountable boredom between the endless meetings.

She could hear no voices through the sealed doors, but knew they must still be within, although it had been hours. The living silence pressed around her like a heavy weight, draining the last remaining vestiges of her energy. Unable to listen, she looked instead, at the marble floors, smooth as dark water, her reflection within them almost as vivid the living image looking down. The high domed ceiling yawned above her, giving the impression of age and grandeur and permanence, and she wondered whether the cracks would start to show here, too, drowning their pride and foolishness in a sea of crumbling rubble.

A long shadow slanted across the floor, just as she heard the resounding echo of oncoming footsteps. Padme looked up, but the surrounding pale light made it impossible to see who it was. Instead, she gazed at the swirling gold dust-motes disturbed by the movement, and drew herself up in a professional stance. Curtain rising. She had dressed herself deliberately in professional regalia: her hair had been elaborately brushed and coiled into sleek, twin braids and adorned with twists of silver thread. On her head she wore a netted cap, embroidered with beads and metallic thread. The extravagant gown, the heavy material a deep mercury, was voluminous enough to conceal the increasingly visible evidence of her pregnancy. A few moments more and she saw at last the large, graceful figure of Bail Organa approaching; sweeping robes a regal shade of purple merely augmenting the natural aura of dignity that settled over his shoulders like an invisible cloak. Padme felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Senator Organa was one of the few people with whom she could feel remotely herself, primarily because she did not have to conceal her anxieties about the Senate in his presence as he shared her exact sentiments. He was probably also the closest friend she had who understood the intricacies of the political minefield they were currently navigating and the potential ramifications thereof. He stopped and raised his hand in friendly greeting.

"Senator Organa," she said, smiling politely. "Are you here to see the Chancellor?"

"No, I'm merely passing through. I was hoping to find Senator Mothma." He paused, a ringed hand motioning toward the closed doors. "Is the Chancellor still within?"

She merely nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. She didn't have to. Bail said aloud what she was privately thinking.

"I see you didn't merit an invitation either." His rich, deep tones carried a hint of disapproval not directed at herself.

Padme avoided his significant gaze, knowing that what he wished to discuss could not be done so in such a public area. They had agreed on this, all of them. They would speak out when the time came, but until then…

She spoke dutifully, her voice dull and mechanical. "I believe Knight Skywalker is giving a debriefing about the most recent developments of the military situation. Our presence is not strictly necessary, as I am sure everything will be discussed in the Senate tomorrow."

Bail sighed, dark eyes softening. They were very black, but there was warmth in there, and light, not emptiness. His face momentarily lost something of the worn, harried look they had all been wearing recently. "I suppose you are right. Besides, today should be a day of celebration. Knight Skywalker has certainly proven himself a war hero. The Holonet is talking of nothing else."

"His achievements deserve praise," said Padme in a neutral tone. Her eyes shone with pride at the Senator's warm commendation but she was also aware of a fleeting pain grazing the edges of her heart. The renowned and legendary Jedi Knight Skywalker seemed so very distant and remote from her own beloved Anakin.

A protocol droid whirred past, clinking quietly on the polished marble floors. They both waited for it to disappear around the corner before resuming their conversation.

"Will you be attending the dinner tonight?" Bail asked. "It should be quite an event. Goodness knows we have had precious few chances in these recent months to have an evening's enjoyment. And, speaking as a personal friend, I think it would do you good to have a night away from your apartment."

Padme did not feel the need to enlighten the good Senator that, tonight of all nights; she did not expect to be alone in her apartment. However, his genuine concern touched her deeply. Her gaze caught his, and she gave a little smile. "I appreciate your concern. I should be delighted to go. However, there are some personal matters I have to see to first."

"Then I will detain you no longer." The creases around Bail's eyes deepened a little as he smiled at her with a brotherly affection. He reached a hand out and touched her shoulder lightly in gesture of reassurance. It was the first time in weeks that she had experienced any kind of physical contact, and it helped a little, dispelling some of the frost within her. "Take care of yourself, Padme," he said.

"Thank you, Senator," she said quietly.

Padme watched his retreating figure with a twinge of regret, feeling she should have been more warm, more friendly, more _something_. Loneliness destroyed and rotted the soul, she knew this, but secrecy and isolation had become such an intrinsic part of her being, to open up to someone was too difficult and scary to contemplate.

She also didn't like to consider how Anakin would feel about her divulging her secrets to another man, even one who was married.

Behind her, the doors slid open with a faint hiss that shattered the resounding silence. She spun round, startled, and found herself standing face to face with her husband.

Padme swallowed hard. Her lungs seemed to have compressed as she could not gain the necessary air to speak, nor the clarity in her brain to form any words.

"Anakin," was all she managed, in an exhalation of shaky breath.

He took a couple of steps towards her, the movement somehow able to be both lithe and tense at the same time. His slumberous voice effortlessly managed to unravel the threads of logic her disordered mind was rapidly trying to reassemble. "Who were you talking to just now?"

"Merely Senator Organa. He spoke very highly of you."

He said nothing. Cerulean eyes burned her soul. Padme found herself unable to look away. She had forgotten how tall he was, and the fact that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. But it all came back to her in a rush of painful and longing memory. Yet there was also something changed. There had been little time in that all-too-brief reunion to really look at him. But now she was struck by how much he was altered, and it seemed incredible she had not noticed it before. His features had hardened, the once youthful rounded lines of his face now a distant dream. Everything about him was angular. The lean, wiry figure that carried itself with such surety and self-reliance, the tanned, chiselled face that was partly hidden by the burnished gold curls that fell below his collar. His shoulders were tense with a constant alertness and his eyes – Padme shivered slightly. How could she have forgotten his eyes? Brooding, secretive, wary, constantly changing and more thrilling than ever.

Yes, this war had certainly changed him; each time he came back to her a little different. Darker. Colder. Further and further away from her. She cast her mind back to the dashing young Padawan with the cocky smile she had once been wildly in love with and wondered how he had become this grim, sombre and jaded warrior almost without her realising it. Her past feelings seemed like little more than an infatuation; her emotions now were deepened by time and augmented by long suppression.

She looked down, suddenly feeling unaccountably awkward at the near-stranger she was confronted with. Fighting to keep her voice casual, she asked with great civility, "How was the meeting?"

Anakin shrugged slightly, the movement causing his dark cloak to ripple slightly. _Black, _she thought. _Always black. _He had never taken to the natural sand-coloured robes favoured by Obi-Wan. To Padme, the dark colour seemed to epitomise the growing sense of power that was an increasing part of his person and a deliberate attempt to belie the wilful and passionate nature lurking beneath the brooding exterior.

"Long," he said finally, falling into step beside her. "But the politics of this war have never interested me. If it were not for the Chancellor's sake, I wouldn't have stayed as long as I did. But they were insistent on congratulating me for a mission well carried out."

The grim lines around his mouth tautened as he smiled, and a brief arrogance flashed through his eyes that disturbed her.

"It was well-deserved, I'm sure. And a definite step towards seeing this war comes to an end." Her tone was cool and polite even though there were no passers-by to hear them.

"I've already faced Grievous once. He won't escape me again."

A flicker of apprehension passed through her. "You don't think the Jedi will assign you to track him down, do you?"

He looked away from her an instant, a distant, serious expression on his face. They were so close, walking right next to each other, but never had he seemed further away from her. "I don't know. I haven't yet reported to the Council. This business with the Senate overran. Things there are –"

"Difficult," she said grimly. "I know. Of course the Chancellor's return will set the Senate much at ease. It seems to have become rather reliant on his leadership."

Anakin didn't turn around. "There is nothing wrong with that. Poor and indecisive decision-making was what led to this war in the first place. Firm leadership is what this Republic needs, especially in a time like this."

Padme decided not to retread over old ground. They had had this conversation many times, but he was rarely so composed over the subject. He was so unmoved; in fact, that she found herself wanting that old flash of impulsive but honest temper that set him apart from the politicians she was constantly surrounded by.

"There's a difference between decisive leadership and autocratic rule. I'm worried that the Senate has gotten so used to the Chancellor's Emergency Powers that it's forgetting how to run as a democratic body."

"The Chancellor won't let that happen." His voice was confident, his surety bordering on arrogance.

Padme looked sidelong at him. Anakin's blue eyes – his most revealing feature – were as cool and impenetrable as chips of ice. The proud tilt of the chin, the hollowed cheekbone her swiftly assessing glance afforded her revealed nothing. It was like trying to glean an expression off a marble statue. A painfully beautiful marble statue.

She wondered why it seemed so familiar; the sense of all these emotions being concealed behind a wall of set features and self-imposed reserve, the determinedly suppressed feelings that never betrayed themselves, because to do so would mean –

Padme froze.

Because she _realised_.

It was like looking at herself.

All of it. And it wasn't a comfortable feeling. Padme had always been self-contained, even from her earliest years. From Apprentice Legislator, to Queen, to Senator. Rigid self-control had been a part of her life: years of having to make difficult decisions and personal sacrifices in the name of duty and the greater good. But she hadn't ever really considered how it must make her appear to other people. Sola used to tease her about being intimidating, her mother had worried she put off potential suitors by appearing too aloof, but now, looking at Anakin, she saw what it was like. Her heart contracted a little inside her chest.

It was an awful feeling, to think that the person you loved most in the world could potentially hide things from you, and carry burdens they would never tell you of.

_Is that how he feels? _She thought uneasily. _Is that how he's felt all these years we've been together?_

No. She would never hide anything from Anakin. Besides, she couldn't. He was too in-tuned to her emotions.

"Anyway –"

At the sound of his voice, Padme suddenly felt the tension leave her shoulders – a tension she had become so used to over the last few months, she had almost become unaware of its existence.

Anakin continued: "I'm tired of all this talk of politics. I've spent all day having to listen to the Chancellor and Ambassador Darsana, while Obi-Wan went to report to the Council. All those hours and all I could think about was when I could finally be alone with you."

Padme was certain her heart had just jumped into lightspeed. In a movement so swift only a Jedi could have achieved it, Anakin had moved in front of her, holding her by her forearms. He smiled slightly, and was no longer the distant and renowned Jedi Knight, but the Anakin she knew and loved once more. He leaned over her, his eyes full of dark intent.

"You have no idea how much I've longed for you," he whispered.

His low words of hinted promise sent shivers spiralling across her flesh, causing her body to feel more alive than it had in months. It was frightening how tempted she was in that moment to throw herself against him and seek oblivion in his arms, caution be damned. But she was not so foolish as to lose herself completely. They had not yet reached the sanctuary of her apartment and there was always the risk of being seen. Besides, she felt they were not yet done talking. So instead, she leaned back a little, regarding him seriously.

"I was so worried. The rumours in the Senate, Anakin… you don't understand what it's been like here. I didn't think you would be coming back."

"You must have known I was nearby. I was very deliberate in making my presence felt to you through the Force." He leaned down, close enough to murmur in her ear, "Didn't you dream about me?" A knowing smirk was playing around the corners of his sensual mouth. "The things you said… I didn't think you'd be likely to forget."

Padme pulled away from him at once in shock. She found that she was shaking, suddenly furious at his audacity. "My dreams… that was you? You did that? How could you violate my mind like that?"

"_Violate?_" His jaw tightened and she could see a muscle jumping in his neck. "I was trying to comfort you. What is so wrong with that?"

"You can't –" She tried to speak in a calmer tone. "You cannot simply wander into other people's minds at will, Anakin. It isn't right. Just because you can, it doesn't mean you should."

"Why? Is there something you're hiding?"

She stared at him, for once, completely thrown. "What?"

His expression had darkened, a look of jealousy flaring in his eyes. "Is there someone else?"

"Of course not!"

"So you still love me."

_Until I die, _she thought. Aloud, she said: "Anakin..."

"You told me once," he continued in a low voice. "That you loved me. Is that still true?"

She didn't look away; she didn't think she could, even if she'd wanted to. "You know it is." Even though there was no denying it was true, it was still difficult to get the words out. She had never been comfortable with talking about her personal feelings.

"Then what is so wrong with wanting to assure you I would come back to you?"

"Because it just makes it harder! How do you think it felt, waking up only to find myself alone?"

"You are never alone, Padme," he said fiercely. "Never."

"You just – you don't seem to realise how hard it is. This war is tearing our entire world apart, yet you seem stronger than ever. You come out of these terrible battles unscathed… nothing seems to touch you, Ani. Every day, you're becoming more and more powerful, further away from me."

"I'd fight my way through a thousand Galaxies to be at your side, Padme." He said her name in that unique way, as though it has three syllables instead of two. "You know that." He cupped her chin with burning fingers, looking intently into her eyes. "So you did miss me?"

"I die every time you leave me." The words left her before she had time to think – thanks to the confused state his presence always threw her into that didn't require any manipulation of the Force on his part. That look of arrogant satisfaction was almost enough to make her fall in love with him all over again.

"I know," he said, his voice deep with approval. "I can sense it."

"Then why did you –?"

He was tracing letters of fire across her bare skin. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

She caught his scent, dark and electric, combined with the leather of his tunic, and her head spun at his closeness.

They had barely made it into the elevator before he had pinned her against the wall. The doors slid shut behind them. Her stomach dropped, and it had nothing to do with the altitude. The wall of the elevator was hard against her back but her body felt hot and shivery, the surface of her skin humming, hyper-responsive to where his hands were touching her.

"Anakin, we shouldn't –"

"Why not?" His voice was a hot exhalation against the hollow of her throat. "There's no one to see us."

Somewhere, echoing dimly in the depths of her mind was the thought that she should fight this, but she had been fighting for so long. All her life she had fought and struggled, and suffered, locking her troubles away inside her beneath an exterior of decorum and responsibility. She had been cold for so long. She just wanted to _feel _again. Anything to drive away that gnawing emptiness that had taken a hold of her ever since this war had begun.

"Ani –"

His sudden kiss was deep and ravaging, almost savage, scorching through her body, sending her nerves ablaze, again and again. She clung to him, nails digging into his leather-clad arms, drowning in the scent of him. He was here, gloriously here, around, above, against her. No dream was this, no longing memory. She gave a low moan into his mouth, and Anakin's hold on her tightened possessively as the elevator hurtled downwards and the world dropped away. His tongue swept against hers in a plundering rhythm of dizzying sensuality that left her breathless and light-headed when he finally pulled away, breathing harshly.

Padme looked up at him and swallowed apprehensively. Dark and light battled in his eyes. The pulse in his throat was beating furiously, and on an impulse, she leaned forward, darting out her tongue to taste the perspiration beaded there. A hard shudder ran through his body and he lifted her up against the wall, his hands tracing a shaking caress from shoulder to hips, as though unable to bear the thought of not touching her. His mouth slid down the curve of her throat, the unexpected assault of his tongue and teeth eliciting a sharp gasp from her. Streaks of fire were spiralling outward from the places he laid his hands. She arched against him, needing more.

Oh she was feeling, all right.

It was the same, yet somehow different. Perhaps it was this new urgency the war had imposed upon them, perhaps it was their limited time together, perhaps it was his growing power, perhaps it was something else entirely, only his touches were even more fervent than usual, hands shaking violently as they traced her outline through the heavy barriers of clothing. There was something raw and unguarded about his kisses, the fast and quickened breathing and the feverish muttering of her name, over and over.

Anakin's love for her had always bordered on frightening, but she also knew that a part of her loved the danger, the sensation of straddling a dizzying abyss that would see no end to her fall.

And she was certainly falling.

The ground was rushing downwards, and Padme was grateful for the strength in his lean frame that was the only thing holding her up. She could feel the tightly corded muscles in his back move beneath her hands and she wanted to be rid of the frustrating barrier of worn leather that prevented her from touching bare skin. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, and he shifted position, causing a brief, rough friction that sent a bolt of concentrated heat to flare between her thighs.

"Ani –" she said aloud, in a half-gasp.

"I missed you," he whispered harshly, his breath ragged heat against her flesh. "I missed you so much..."

She only clung to him the tighter as he rapidly tugged aside the topmost laces of her gown and pressed his mouth against the inviting mound of flesh beneath. Padme released a hiss of breath through her teeth, fingers entwining in his curling hair, pulling so hard that it made him wince. In response, he ground his hips against her own; she felt him pressing against her and choked slightly. Unable to bear the taut point of painful pleasure, she reached downward, but he caught hold of her hands and lifted them once more, trapping her wrists against the wall –

The elevator came to a shuddering halt and the doors slid open.

Anakin stumbled back instantly, head whipping round in alarm. No longer being held upright, Padme slid down the wall several inches with a startled and most undignified squeak. She stepped forward, feeling her legs a little unsteady beneath her. Peering round Anakin's taut and rigid figure, she saw with a feeling of insurmountable relief that the corridor was empty. But now the feverish heat of mindless desire was receding, she realised soberly that they had been careless. Such a thing must not happen again, however long they had been apart. She turned to Anakin, and one glimpse of his smouldering expression told her that he was not even remotely sharing her concerns.

"Ani…"

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Padme opened her mouth to impress upon him again the need for caution, the restrictions they had imposed upon themselves, the division of their public and private lives and how the two must never mingle… but she couldn't bring herself to. Their time together was already so limited…

"Welcome home," was all she said.


	4. Meditation

**Meditation**

It is an unusual feeling of stillness, the air like rippling glass against his skin, enclosing him effectively as the cockpit of a Speeder. No sound but the slow and steady breathing in his ears. He opens his eyes, forcing himself to look without focusing on any one object in particular. He has chosen the room deliberately for this purpose: its unadorned and spacious environment producing the inductive calm so necessary for these exercises. His mind ascends further in the hovering half-conscious state of a somnambulist. The world reaches him with a hazy lack of clarity, a blur of mist and veil-like obscurity. He tilts his head back slightly, body relaxing, making no attempt to fight the incoming call that washes against him like storm-grey Kaminoan waves –

Obi-Wan jerks suddenly, as his mind encounters an invisible barrier like snarled threads, abrasive and impenetrable. The startling sensation is enough to jolt him from his calm and meditative state and bring him back to reality. The chamber comes rushing back into focus, its circular stone walls reflecting the weak sunlight that filters in through the high windows. The Jedi frowns, light blue eyes narrowed in confusion.

Yoda has not been mistaken. Although he is not so presumptuous as to claim he matches the ancient Master's skill in discerning the Force, even he can tell that there is something blocking their ability to read it, a barrier of mystification and darkness. This war has thrown everything into confusion, but with Dooku's death, who has the power to cloak the Force so effectively? Meditation normally comes easily to him, so why this doubt, this shadow sending ripples through a long-familiar rhythm?

Obi-Wan stands up, inhaling the dry air of age-old dust. There is a tight, constricting feeling in his chest at odds with the wide spaces and lofty heights surrounding him. No external discomfort, this. The pervading sense of unease comes from within, causing his body to shiver unpleasantly, as though cold hands are hovering over the nape of his neck, waiting to deliver a crushing blow at some indeterminate moment in the future.

But when? And from what source?

Not Grievous, surely? The General could be no more perilous than Dooku had been, and besides, only since returning to Coruscant has the Jedi felt this sullen dread looming over them all. Some nameless threat of secrecy and horror has crept into his thoughts, no matter how much he tries to shield himself from such fears. Fear clouds the mind; it is only through balance and rational thought can he hope to gain any insight into what is really being concealed.

Yes, something is certainly lurking within these fog-drenched towers, and thus far, it has been beyond the clairvoyance and insight of the Jedi to discover it. Obi-Wan briefly considers whether the Senate may have more success. He dismisses the notion instantly. No, the Senate is no longer the place of protection and refuge it once was. That ancient institution has reached heights of unimaginable power; its gleaming towers terrifying and untouchable. And theChancellor, at the centre of that power, seeing all, knowing all, his influence pervading even the Jedi Council chamber…

A frown mars the Jedi's open face as the image of Anakin flares vividly in his thoughts. His former Padawan is not the least of his worries - rather, the very forefront of his anxiety. He has too many ties to the Senate: his feelings for Senator Amidala, his friendship with the Chancellor… Obi-Wan dreadfully fears the potential of this relationship, one so ripe for corruption, ideology, and manipulation. Yet conversely… Anakin is the best way of ensuring the Jedi gain some knowledge of the Chancellor: his movements, his intentions. Something in his chest buckles with a small contraction of pain at the thought of using Anakin as pawn in this political game. But in this secretive, shrouded world where nothing is as it appears, he sees no way of making it otherwise. Yet still the thought of it burns a hole in his mind and heart. It feels horribly like betrayal.

He stands in the empty Temple, illumined by a halo of transient light, waiting for some answer, but none is forthcoming. Only age, coldness, immensity, echoes. He is incapable of feeling anything but the most basic of physical sensations; the rough abrasion of his robes against his skin, the stiffness in his limbs from his prolonged position on the chill floor, the puckering goosebumps raised along the edge of his skin that is hyper-sensitive to the surrounding atmosphere. No sense of ritual conveyed in the lofty ascension of his mind, or the rhythm of his breathing or the pounding of his heart.

No longer is the Jedi Temple the source of knowledge and enlightenment. His last refuge has failed.

Perhaps it is time he spoke with Yoda.


	5. The Universe of Opposites

**The Universe of Opposites**

The Coruscant Opera House was almost full by the time Anakin arrived, with several minutes to spare. The orchestra was still tuning up when he entered the Chancellor's private box, and he was relieved to see that for once Palpatine was not surrounded by a group of tedious delegates or hangers-on. The Jedi lacked the patience for them, now even more so than usual. He hated the petty formalities, the insincere small talk of the kind that Padme managed to engage in with such effortless ease. It made him feel clumsy, insecure, unsure of himself. It was not a feeling he liked.

"Chancellor," said Anakin, inclining his head with a quiet deference he had yet to show to the Jedi Council.

"Ah, Anakin." Palpatine's smile of welcome was kind, disarming. "You see for once that I am quite alone, something of a rarity these days."

"It was kind of you to extend your invitation to me."

The Chancellor waived away his show of politeness. "I imagine the Jedi have allowed you little time for leisure over these last few weeks. Take a seat, Anakin."

The Jedi nodded and obediently sat down, long limbs stretching out in front of him. His gloved hands curled around the cold armrests, feeling the background throb of uncoordinated music humming through the metal in a series of fits and starts. He thought suddenly of Padme, closed away in the Senate, and wondered how she survived passing each day in that confined world of metal and darkness. That was how he felt now. Colourless. Hollow. Except at night, when -

Anakin shuddered violently.

He had dreamed again last night and awoken in the icy perspiration of terror. The remaining hours of darkness had been long and sleepless. He felt like he was being slowly crushed by the weight of the premonitions pressing down on him. He couldn't think of anything but Padme. She was in everything now. His head drooped forward, dark-gold curls falling into his eyes. Breath left him in a sigh at the sight of his reflection in the polished metallic surface of the seat in front of him. Tiredness had gathered in the indigo smudges beneath his eyes that were blazing with the heightened, feverish intensity that always signified sleep deprivation. Even Obi-Wan had been shocked at his haggard appearance, which Anakin tried to pass off as the result of boredom and inactivity. His Master had seemed to accept the explanation, making Anakin relieved for once that Obi-Wan still thought of him as a hot-headed and reckless Padawan.

But still, there was no getting around it. The dreams were getting worse. And they would never end.

Never - unless he did something to stop them. Resolve flooded through his veins like quicksilver. He would fight her fate. He would fight the universe for her if he had to.

He seemed to spend his days walking that gray space between sleeping and waking, where fiery images appeared in his monochrome surroundings, briefly imprinting upon his tired lids. Then he would open his eyes to see Padme's face, tired and worried, and took this as irrefutable evidence that her doom was approaching, and his with it.

He leaned back into the sheltered cocoon of his seat in an attempt to ease out the lines of tension in his shoulders. At one time he would have needed only to be with Padme to feel blissfully calm and at ease with everything. But now… now she was the very source of his anguish; a bitter, shattering force of potent destruction. He realised now that it had always been so; she had always possessed the ability to end his world, only he had thought they would be annihilated together. Not apart. Never apart.

His eyes were fixed with a mesmerised intensity on the Opera unfurling before him. The blue and violet lights stretched out with long, multi-splayed fingers of incandescence. To the Jedi, whose waking hours had been haunted by images of fire and destruction, the cool, melancholy colours went a long way to easing the burning ache behind his eyes. He could stay in this drowsing darkness forever.

The music was blue. The cloudless cerulean of a Tatooine sky, of Naboo's cool lakes and the steady glow of a lightsaber. The flickering of a Holovid. Anakin watched, captivated, as his mind wheeled and spun with the melodies. The rhythm of the music, rising and falling, followed the surging tide of his blood.

"What's troubling you, Anakin?"

Palpatine's quiet, modulated tones arrested his attention. The Jedi looked sidelong at him. He appeared as calm and imperturbable as ever; Anakin sometimes wondered if anything could disturb that aura of serene gravity. Strange lights flickered across the Chancellor's face, rendering it deathly pale. His silver-gray eyes were still as glass, languid pools that revealed nothing. It was strange. Palpatine did not leave a characteristic imprint on the Force in the way others did. He seemed to absorb and contain emotion rather than exude and radiate it. Anakin frowned. Had it always been this way, or were his dreams disrupting everything around him, even his ability to read the Force?

There could be no other explanation. Palpatine had always shown him nothing but kindness; Anakin sometimes though the Chancellor was the only true friend he had ever had. Someone who did not scold, nor judge, nor condemn. He sighed, gloved fingers trying to ease out the grim lines between his brows.

"I'm feeling… restless," he admitted at last. Palpatine smiled sympathetically.

"It's understandable. Even I was surprised at the Council's decision to send Master Kenobi to Utapau when you have proven yourself far more readily in battle. Why, were it not for you, Count Dooku would still be at large, and we would be no further in seeing an end to this war."

"Obi-Wan is a great Jedi. I'm… glad, and… honoured that the Council appointed him for such an important mission."

"Oh, Master Kenobi is certainly well trained in the arts of the Jedi. But it strikes me that he lacks a certain… independence of spirit that is imperative if one is to aspire to greatness. You must feel at least a little slighted that the Council overlooked you for this task."

"No. Well… yes," Anakin admitted. "But it's more than that." Palpatine's level gray gaze, devoid of criticism or judgement, impelled him to go on. "I've been so… disconnected lately. And I'm questioning things – things I know I shouldn't."

"We were born to question the nature of things. Mindless adherence to a higher authority is the root of many of the evils in this Galaxy."

"But you're the Chancellor," said Anakin tentatively. "You have the highest authority in the Republic."

Palpatine did not seem to take offence at the remark. "And I should hope I have done something towards overturning the archaic doctrines of the Senate that led to this war in the first place."

"You have," the Jedi said fervently. "You _are._"

"Perhaps. But there are those who have their doubts… Senator Amidala, for instance, has been spreading dissent among the Senate, and, I am sorry to say, voicing many of the same rumours that gave the Separatist movement such power."

Anakin swallowed nervously. He could feel cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck. "I'm sure Senator Amidala is loyal to the Republic."

"I hope you are right. But in these troubled times, even one as driven and committed as Senator Amidala is not immune to corruption."

"No," said Anakin firmly. "She's loyal. I _swear _it."

Palpatine inclined his head in graceful acquiescence, before turning his attention back to the performance. "You know best, I'm sure."

The music was gold. Glittering sand and the sweetness of ripe-skinned fruits, the smell of sunlight on a polished Speeder. Lying in fragrant meadow grasses swaying in those blissful days before the war. Had it really been like that, once? Or had it all been a dream?

"I would hope," said Palpatine slowly, after some minutes of silence, "That you could talk to me about anything, Anakin. You know I can help you."

Anakin closed his eyes, the sudden image of desert wastes stretching out in his minds' eye; the blood red of twin suns setting over the grave of his mother; a vow of resolve, of vengeance.

_I wasn't strong enough to save you. But I promise, I won't fail again._

He opened his eyes onto darkness, the harsh, scorched wilderness and sense of clarity receding back to the recesses of distant memory. His voice was slow and halting. "There was so much I was going to do. My mother… I swore I would save her, but I was too late. I failed her. I can't lose anyone else. I made a promise on her grave that I wouldn't fail again." Something about the cool darkness whispered to him, impelling him to say these dangerous things that he had never uttered aloud to anyone. "If you do a wrong thing for the right reasons, is it still a wrong thing?"

"That all depends on your definition of right and wrong," murmured the Chancellor. "In the end, they are just words, Anakin."

"No," he said, struggling to verbalise the doctrines instilled into him by the Jedi Order. "I know that good and evil exist. This war has shown me that. I've _seen _it."

"And if they do exist, what of it? The universe couldn't exist without opposites. It was formed from emptiness and chaos as much as it was from matter and order. Darkness is just as vital as light. Both are equally necessary; without one, you could not have the other."

Anakin realised his hands were shaking. He gripped onto the armrests of his chair to steady himself.

"And what about the Force?"

"The Force is only as powerful as those who wield it. You fear using the Dark Side of the Force, because you are afraid of losing yourself. And that is all. Fear of the unknown. The Jedi fear what they do not understand."

"But the Dark Side of the Force is evil. I know it," said Anakin stubbornly, holding onto his argument. He knew there was something dreadfully wrong somewhere in Palpatine's logic but he couldn't quite work out where it was.

"The Jedi – for all their merits – see the world too simply in black and white. Good and evil. Only by understanding evil just as much as good can you come to grow in wisdom."

The music was red. Blood and lava and endless fires. Heat blistering the surface of his skin. Death and loss and pain. And betrayal. Terrible betrayal. The beginning of nothing and the end of everything. And his lungs were crumpling in on themselves, being choked, or crushed, and he couldn't breathe - he was suffocating -

Anakin jerked upright, his head colliding painfully against the back of the seat. He drew a sharp breath. Leather clad fingers traced the beginnings of a lump forming beneath his unruly curls. The dull ache of it brought him back to reality. Had he fallen asleep again? He could not say. He saw it all so often now, sleeping or waking, it made little difference. It took him a moment to realise that Palpatine was still speaking.

"You cannot hope to understand the Force if you do not even understand yourself."

The Jedi said nothing but his mind was racing. Understand himself? He had never understood himself, that was the problem. Over the last thirteen years he had tried on and discarded a slew of identities. Slave boy. Pilot. Jedi. Lover. They hung on him oddly, not quite, not _fitting. _He could not escape the sense that he was supposed to be more than what he was.

It was only when he was with Padme that he felt a sense of who he was. Without her, he did not know himself, nor did he want to. He wanted to immerse himself so completely in her that it would be impossible to tell where he ended and she began; even the passionate pressing of their bodies together while the sky rained metal and fire overhead was not enough. He wanted to absorb her fully, to burn and drown in her until the Galaxy crumbled to ash and reforged itself. He thought maybe if he held on to her tightly enough, that he could stand between her and her fate.

He never stopped to think that he might be the catalyst.

_I don't know what to do._

_Don't you?_

Possibilities flickered before him, shadowy, vague, indistinct. In the background, he could hear the symphonies still, or was it his own pulse? Although they had come for the music, it seemed quieter here than anywhere else on Coruscant. Elsewhere, there was always the sound overhead battles, or even in the lull between skirmishes there was the ever-present static hum of electric intensity, like the kind that precedes a thunderstorm. Something expectant and foreboding.

He did not understand and hated himself for not understanding. What infinite secrets could be discovered once the dark veils of illusion were stripped away?

"You have no identity except that which the Jedi has forced upon you," the Chancellor was saying. "And that is all you will ever have, unless –"

A strange, hungry light flared in Anakin's eyes.

"Unless what?"

"Unless you are willing to test your limits. Anakin, there is untapped power within you beyond that of any Jedi I have ever encountered. Power that many would kill to possess. To let such potential go to waste… your power is meant to be used. Do what you like with it. There is no evil in seeking knowledge if it is for benevolent purposes."

_Padme, _he thought, and his heart twisted in pain, the permanent cords around his chest tightening, pulled to breaking point. Anakin closed his eyes as the image of her agonised face flashed through his head. Was it his fear that was killing her, just as it had killed his mother?

No. His jaw clenched visibly, a tendon jumping in his neck. He was Jedi Knight Skywalker. He wasn't afraid of anything.

"You do know, don't you…" Palpatine's voice held an almost hypnotic quality now, "Of the Prophecy the Jedi speak of."

Anakin's heart thudded to a halt as electricity shot through every nerve of his body. Blue eyes blazed like the centre of a coal flame as he fixed them with quiet intensity on the Chancellor.

It was Palpatine and yet not Palpatine. The gray eyes, the silver hair, the lined face were the same as ever, and yet… gone was the kind, fatherly figure ever ready with an indulgent word and benevolent smile, and in his place was someone stern and commanding, charged with menace and subtle power. There was something ancient and immutable in his face. Cold eyes seemed to go on and on, without light, without end.

"How do you know about the Prophecy?" Anakin asked in a low voice.

The Chancellor did not so much as blink in response to the Jedi's swift interrogatory tone. His voice was as cool and smooth as ever as he replied evenly, "I know far more about what goes on inside the Jedi Council Chambers than you might think."

Anakin drew a slow breath. "Master Obi-Wan does not like me asking questions about it." A flash of anger twisted his handsome features. "He does not tell me anything."

"But you must know it refers to yourself, Anakin."

There was something in the emotionless simplicity of the way Palpatine spoke that was inarguable. Anakin inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. Time seemed to have stopped. The darkness was heavy, expectant, as though the Galaxy held its breath, waiting for some infinite judgement to fall.

"I knew it," said Anakin quietly. His voice was shaking with barely restrained excitement. "I think… I always knew."

"Then you are far wiser than the Jedi give you credit for. They underestimate you, Anakin, as they have always done. And always will."

_Unless I show them otherwise._

"_That's _why they refused to make me a Jedi Master," he breathed in soft realisation to himself.

"They fear you, Anakin. They don't trust you. I… did not wish to believe it, but… it's true. They fear you. Perhaps even hate you."

_Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate._

Oh, he had certainly seen the results of hatred over the last three years. Distant planets, slick with streaming blood, metal and smoke and flame, leaving scorched deserts in their wake, and all for a war he had long ceased believing in. At least he had killed the Sand People for a reason. What justification did the Jedi have for this?

His blood was boiling at the hypocrisy of it all. After everything he had done for them… for _thirteen _years he had devoted his life solely to the Jedi Order and _this _was how they repaid him? With lies and distrust, asking him to act as a spy on the only person he had ever trusted. They feared the truth, they feared _him _and what he could do with such a truth if it fell into his hands. A truth so powerful it could burn right through him.

He had always known he was separate, different. He had never been like any of them; not like Yoda, who waited for the inevitable to fall without doing anything to intervene; not like Mace Windu, with his strength that was limited to merely carrying out orders; not like Obi-Wan who never questioned anything beyond his direct mandates. Their world was so small; they clung to whatever power came their way, reluctant to share it even with the Republic for whom they were supposedly fighting for. Well, no more would he abide by their petty doctrines. He was beyond them now. He was beyond any of them. With Padme at his side… his power and strength, and her brilliance and intelligence… they could shape the world as they wished.

The Jedi drew himself up, dark robes falling over his shoulders in rippling waves. His eyes were illuminated with an inner fire, a clear and lambent blue. His firmly set mouth was grim. He was Anakin Skywalker: fatherless, powerful, destined. _Pride, _Dooku had called it in a moment of foolishness, before death had claimed him, death deservedly carried out. Dooku, who had dared to defy him, like the Sand People who had taken what was rightfully his and ultimately paid for their crimes. He had administered his own justice - and in both cases, had he not, both would have lived on to commit further atrocities. It was proof, proof that he possessed more wisdom than the Jedi were willing to believe, proof that the rules should not apply to people like him. Soon, they would see. Why soon, he would -

Anakin started violently as the Opera House erupted in sudden, overwhelming applause. The music had ended. It returned him to reality. No longer was he a renowned figure, fated and terrible, with the fate of worlds resting on his shoulders, but merely a young Jedi Knight, blinking under the harsh glare of the overhead lights, curls matted against the back of his neck which was perspiring from the heat and warmth of the auditorium. Palpatine himself was nothing more than the benign, elderly man he had always been - what had induced him to think otherwise?

Anakin shook his head slightly as though to clear it.

"Is the performance over?" he asked, confused.

"What's that?" Palpatine glanced at him, arrested from the motion of gesturing one of his aides towards him that had been hovering anxiously at the box entrance. "The end? Oh no, it is only the ending of the first act." The aide approached and whispered something in the Chancellor's ear. Anakin hesitated, awkward once more at the stranger's intrusion, debating whether or not to leave.

Palpatine seemed to read his thoughts. "I should hate you to miss the rest of the performance. Personally, I am intrigued to see how it will all end. Stay with me, Anakin."

And, of course, Anakin stayed.


	6. Interlude

**Interlude**

Days go by.

Anakin is no longer able to measure a linear progression of minutes or hours. Day and night have lost all meaning, as often the flaring lights of Galactic war illuminate the night sky with a brilliant radiance, while the growing clouds and smoke engines darken even the brightest day. Time behaves strangely; sometimes moving in periods of interminable slowness, at other times, days pass without his realising it. Anakin is aware only of an increasing sense of urgency and the conviction that time is running out.

He goes to the Jedi Council meetings, he sees the Chancellor, he sits alone in Padme's apartment, staring and staring and wondering when _act soon _will become _too late. _Obi-Wan has remarked that he looks pale, and Padme is looking at him with a new expression of concern in her eyes. The increasing prevalence of her pregnancy makes their lovemaking more awkward than it used to be; her newly-rounded form no longer moulds easily into the sharp angles and hard muscles of his body. This is inconvenient, as it is only in those moments of painful release and endless falling that he knows some kind of escape from this horrible nightmare of a situation.

Even as the threat of losing her becomes more and more real, he finds himself needing her more than he ever has before. She is becoming vital to him in the way he needs food, or oxygen – because she is the only constant in his life – because he has nothing else. All the old accoutrements of his life are slipping away, becoming more and more insignificant as he finds his existence turning around one purpose that is traced in letters of fire across his brain.

He seems to be viewing the world through a distant glass. He lives his daily life as though he is watching someone else carry out those seemingly mundane actions for him. Anakin is unused to this. He is so used to living by his emotions, to be vividly and intensely alive, to be able to _feel, _that sometimes he begins to wonder if this endless existence is in fact the dream, and Padme has been dead for a long, long time.


	7. Dreaming Of

**Dreaming Of**

Memory does not fade and Padme still dreams of Anakin.

She feels a light touch whisper across her face but doesn't open her eyes, dreadfully fearing she will only find the room empty. It has happened before (_so many times_). So she allows her other senses to confirm for her what it is she desperately wants. She feels his weight settle on the bed above her, the soft rustle of fabric, his low breathing filling the tense, expectant space beneath them. She draws a shaky, unsteady breath and inhales the scent of leather and something indefinable; dark and solid, and she knows it really is him.

Finally, Padme opens her eyes. He is leaning over her, a shadowy figure backlit by the cool blue lights fitted into her walls. Burnished gold hair falls into his eyes but even that cannot hide the burning intensity of his gaze. He stays in that position, merely looking at her like that for a long time, as though by doing so he might consume her whole. She shivers half-pleasantly beneath the sheets, suddenly very aware of the whisper of silk against her body, hinting at the promise of so much more… _so close…_

She looks into his eyes, twin gas-lit blue flames, filled with a dark and seductive obsession. Hesitantly, she puts out her hands and traces the hard leather-clad muscles of his shoulders in a tentative movement, as though afraid he will simply flicker and fade away like a Holovid. But he is solid, real, more real than she could ever have hoped to imagine in those flashes of painful yearning in the long, sleepless hours of darkness.

The first night he had come to her like this, she had guided him into her at once, never knowing when she was going to wake up and find him gone. Now she has learnt to take things more slowly, although Anakin is never the sort of person who does anything slowly. Not if he can throw himself headlong into the danger and emerge unscathed, smouldering eyes dancing with infuriating pride and reckless abandon. His gaze is dark and heavy and all-consuming. It should frighten her, but it doesn't. It's exhilarating.

"I didn't think you would come." Her voice hovers faintly between them.

A laugh – low and arrogant and familiar – caresses her ears. "Don't I always?"

Padme does not laugh. Instead, she sits up slightly, resting her head against his chest. She feels him inhale sharply against her. "I know. But I was afraid."

His voice is muffled against the side of her neck, warm lips seeking out bare skin. "I didn't think Senators were afraid of anything."

"A most unusual occurrence, I assure you…" Her voice falters. His kisses are blazing a trail down the elegant line of her throat that is so often concealed by high collars of metallic-trimmed velvet. Her neck arches, instinctively, mirroring the tender-sharp movement of his mouth, demanding against her sensitive skin.

Oh, how she wants this. How she wants to escape from the bleak, harsh reality of politics and plotting. He is the only one who knows her, the real her, the darkness and the doubt and - _oh! _- the passion and need.

His hold tightens on her possessively, leather-gloved fingers splayed against the small of her back, the sensation like a thousand tiny needles of fire in her skin. She arches into him, just the mere act of him holding her enough to arouse all her senses. The sensual slide of silken sheets between her legs is merely a prelude for the caressing sensation of his hands as they delve into every curve highlighted by the transparent folds of her nightgown. Her teeth bite down on her lower lip, an intoxicating taste of pain blurring with the closeness of him, the distracting pleasure of his exploration.

"I miss you so much, Padme…" His breath is hot and sweet against her lips. Dark-gold lashes brush against her cheeks, fleetingly, light and tantalising. She releases a sigh of longing, tracing the contours of his face, the hardened jaw and defined cheekbones, so altered, so far from the young boy he once was.

"Every night I long for you…" His voice is a husky whisper, thick with insatiable longing. She feels herself drowning in the dark blue of his eyes, the lilting cadences of his voice. "When I should be meditating, all I can think of is the things I want to do to you… the things I'll _dare _do to you -"

Enough words. The meeting of their mouths - slick, melding, passionate - becomes an urgent clash of tongues and teeth. White-hot sensation jolts through her body. She is coiled in his lap, the sheets spilling carelessly around her, small figure enveloped by the long arms that wind around her slender shoulders, drawing her flush against him. His lips are hard, forceful, gloved fingers dancing tauntingly along the back of her neck that has begun to perspire, curling strands of hair sticking to the heated skin. The scorching heat of him is startling in contrast to the cold night air and languid flicker of artificial neon lights that pulse across her skin (across her heart).

Her fingers scrabble against the leather of his tunic, pulling it from his shoulders with a near-desperate urgency. He shrugs hastily out of the garment, his chest hard and muscled and so very _there _in the elusive semi-light. Her hands wander over the bare skin, feeling it rise and fall with quickened intensity, his heart thrumming beneath her fingers, too fast, too wild. Yet she could almost cry out in relief at having something - some human contact - after all those hours and days and weeks drifting around in terrible isolation, being the untouched and untouchable Senator all the while suffocating within. Only he knows the secret, dark desires deep within her heart, only he understands her need and only he can satiate it. Her head arches back as his gloved hand teases her breast through thin silk _(not thin enough) _and the ceiling blurs above her. She's drowning in blue, drowning in him, but better to drown than to suffocate...

A part of her knows, deep down, that this isn't real, but the realistic, logical-minded Senator is buried deep within as Padme the woman twists against the familiar-changed body of her husband. There are scars there she has not seen before, but every scar is a survival, and proof that still he always comes to her, in spite of everything…

"Never leave me again," she breathes, a soft whisper in his ear.

_Never… never… _The words echo faintly off the minimalist walls, or perhaps is the Force, merely reflecting his own feelings in her mind.

With an impatient tug, he pulls the leather glove from his functioning hand and discards it carelessly on the expensive carpet. His fingers are cold against her skin and she jumps slightly - his mouth curves in the darkness, blue eyes turning heavy and dark with amusement. It maddens, _infuriates _(_excites_) her how he can be so damned carefree about everything while she's slowly dying without him, and she wants to make him lose that arrogant, cavalier attitude just _once -_

She shifts against him, brown curls tumbling in a damp, disordered mass over her shoulders as she bends her head down, fingers dipping in the narrow space between them to unfasten his trousers. And places her hand just _there_ -

Anakin's amused expression turns suddenly wild.

It almost frightens her. The sense of intense, uncontrollable power that can barely be contained, the tight - almost too tight - grip on her wrists, holding her in place. "Mine," he says fiercely. "You are mine, Padme. Always." She shudders at the words even though she knows them to be true, but he has never said it before with such dangerous conviction… In the core of her inmost being, she suspects it would be safer if they were to stay apart, better for them both. Of course, she has known that from the moment he came back into her life, an arrogant and youthful Padawan learner. But it is too late for that. Far too late.

He pushes her back hard against the bed, and she falls willingly enough, the monochrome shade of those silken sheets a belying contradiction to the burning heat circulating her blood. Her ears are humming with static, and as he positions his body over her, the surface of her skin seems to crackle - as though she will burn up if he comes too close. And she wants to burn. She wants to escape the cold.

It is becoming harder to concentrate as he slides down the length of her body, planting kisses against the gauzy material of her nightgown, seeking out the shadowed contours and secret places that yearn for him, always. The dark sensuality of it renders her incoherent, she can only press herself into him, shivering at the low noise of satisfaction he makes. Her hands tangle in his hair, feeling its coarseness between her delicate fingers and she tugs it none-too-gently, aware of a fierce satisfaction when he growls in pain.

His hands slide down to her waist, the flimsy garment raked around her hips, and she shivers at the feel of his hands ghosting across the exposed skin. The temperature of the room is cold, the chill air heightening the pulses of sensation that spark across her nerves at every sweep of his skilled fingers. Those hands slide from waist to thighs, he whispers something in her ear, but she cannot hear, cannot _think _as those fingers pierce the very core of her, and for a moment, all turns to white light.

But still he is not satisfied, and she can only wait, her body liquid-pliant beneath his hands. No words now, only this thickness of sensation, the intoxicating feel of skin on skin, him moving inside her. She hears herself moaning, sighing, as if from a great distance. She is twisting beneath him, sweating hands knotting in the sheets in an ecstasy of dark passion. His body shudders, hard, and she can feel the reverberations tearing through her. Then a great wave, blue as his eyes, rolls over her, and there is nothing but darkness and the shuddering convulsions that pass through her –

Padme jerks awake. Doused blue lights cast a cool sheen on her perspiring skin as her breathing gradually slows. She turns to her side and Anakin -

Anakin -

Then she remembers it all.

The room is empty (_of course_), the domed ceiling of her bedroom yawning above her. An echo of stillness, of silence. An overwhelming sense loss fills her, brimming over, spilling into her brown eyes, still dark and glazed with the memory of passion _(all lies. Nothing but a dream)_.

She is alone. Anakin is away, fighting on some unknown planet. Rumours circulate the Senate that he is dead. It can't be true… _but then why has it been so long? _She misses him so _much -_

Padme falls back against the pillows, fighting back tears. She _never _used to cry. The blue lights burn like ice behind her closed lids and she buries her face in her pillow (devoid of his scent) and yearns for sleep, seeking the dreams because in the dreams he is entirely hers, and the dreams are all she has…


	8. Secrets and Senators

**Secrets and Senators**

Senator Bail Organa looked out from the high windows of Cantham House. There was a sweetness in the air here, the scenic indoor gardens providing a brief respite from the glare and rush of the city outside. Yet after having spent so many hours enclosed in the darkened Senate Council Chamber, the lush scents and tropical hues seemed too vivid, hyper-real. The artificially enhanced temperature caused a line of perspiration to trickle down beneath his high collar. He was dressed immaculately, the stately robes adding weight and length to his broad-shouldered frame.

Ringed fingers probed the sullen headache that had been steadily building behind his eyes since this morning. He had not slept in two days. Fatigue surged languorously through his veins. No sound but the idle trickle of water from one of the stone fountains. He breathed in the humid musk of tropical plants that briefly carried him away to Alderaan and the longing memory of home. Perhaps one day. When this war ended. _If _this war ended.

"Your gardens are very beautiful, Senator."

Bail turned around. Senator Amidala was calmly examining one of the leaning plants, the enormous, purple-headed flowers drooping languidly, too heavy for their thin stems. Like him, she had dressed with extravagant care, though her robes, with the heavy fall of plush velvet beneath the highly cinched metallic belt, were insufficient to hide the increasing evidence of her condition.

"My wife sees to it that they are maintained immaculately," he said politely.

"This must be a wonderful retreat for you. It's so quiet here."

"I do come here from time to time. Though less often than I would like these days."

Yet in a strange way, he almost wished himself back at the Ambassadorial Sector; that imperial magnificence of a prison with its walls of glass and steel, its marble pillars and echoing floors, although whenever he was there, it made him want to shout to shatter the profound silence.

Or perhaps it was because the Senate District might be grandeur and menace, but it was easier than passing his hours here. Cantham House reminded him too painfully of Alderaan, its transient peace evoking memories of those long and glorious days before the war… _had _there ever been a time before the war? It seemed unthinkable now. What trifling concerns had occupied them before the Galaxy was thrown into chaos and destruction?

"Senators Mothma and Garm Bel Iblis are to join us presently," he said, dragging his thoughts from the past.

Senator Amidala's dark brows furrowed in a slight frown. "It would have been more expedient to have convened at 500 Republica."

"This is merely a precaution. There are too many eyes within the Senate, and we all agreed that discretion was imperative."

Padme shook her head. The bejewelled headdress with its spangling train of gossamer threads flashed with golden light from the setting sun. "I cannot believe that we have resorted to such measures. This - _subterfuge_ - is beneath us, Senator."

"But necessary, for the time being. I like it no more than you do."

She said nothing. Her face was pale beneath the Kabuki makeup.

"Are you alright, Senator?" he asked gravely. "If you are feeling nervous -"

She turned to him with an even smile that did not reach her eyes. "There is no cause to be nervous. It is perfectly within our constitutional rights to raise our concerns and plead for the Chancellor to take into account our petition."

"Yes, but it is the very amendments to the constitution that give us such cause for unease in the first place."

"Allow me to be spokesperson for the delegation," she insisted, placing a hand on his arm in appeal. "With the years of long-standing between us, hopefully the Chancellor can be made to see reason -"

"You should not take too much upon yourself."

Kohl-lined eyes narrowed slightly. "I am perfectly capable of shouldering the responsibility, Senator."

"I have never doubted your ability," he said sincerely. "You have been an inspiration to us all in these dark times."

She had. Not only as a political ally, but also as someone he regarded as a close personal friend. But always, this distance. They had worked together for years, trusted each other, relied on one another, and yet, and yet… Sometimes Bail wondered if he knew her at all. Sometimes he wondered if anyone did.

She faced him with cool resolution, immaculate and untouchable… the drowsy paths of sunlight shifted… and it seemed she lay pale and blue-lipped in a silver casket, dark hair spilling over the sides where white-petalled flowers drifted sadly…

Bail shook his head slightly to clear it. He needed to sleep. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs. How he wanted to lay down, close his eyes and feel black oblivion rolling over him. But nights were restless. He tossed and turned beneath sapphire brocade while his mind, wracked with doubt, could find no peace. He dreamed vividly, fervently, only to start into wakefulness in the silent shadows as the sulphurous dawn light stole in through the glass windows.

His days were no less fraught with unease. The Senate Council Chamber that had once been so clear and simple had turned to shadows and darkness and blurs, as though they had all fallen through a clouded mirror. A cacophony of voices clamouring to be heard. They talked, and talked, and talked, becoming ever more ensnared in their own meaningless rhetoric, and resolved nothing. Had Bail known it, they were all unknowingly instigating the first steps that would ultimately pull the Galaxy apart. This was merely the somnolent calm before their Senate, their Republic, their world would be destroyed.

But all he knew at this moment was the infinite confusion pressing down on him, this helpless sense of trying to navigate his way through an endless sea of deception and doubt. And Senator Amidala stood at the centre of it all, though Bail could not say how he knew this. Perhaps it was his concern for her coupled with his overwrought mind that stirred his uneasy subconscious with this vague sense of dread. Or it may have been her obstinate lack of any sense of self-preservation. Her zealous dedication to the cause could end up getting her killed (if previous assassination attempts were anything to go by) and now more than ever, she needed to take her own safety into account…

"I worry for you, Padme," he said gently. "My wife and I both do. Especially in light of your… condition."

"I appreciate your concern. But everything is under control."

So under control that she would not even tell anyone who the father of her child was. She had made it clear that it was a forbidden subject between them. Bail gave her a long, steady, scrutinising look that made the Senator drop her defiant gaze. The small betrayal of vulnerability convinced him more than ever that she was very much _not _all right. Yet he could not force her to confide in him. Had he not been married and deeply, passionately in love with his wife, Bail would have been willing to claim himself as the father. An affair between two Senators would provide the Holonet with months of gossip, but it was not dangerous. But -

He sighed. Padme carrying a child whose father she would not acknowledge and having to do so alone, while he and Breha had been trying for so long -

Bail clenched his jaw. He would not think of such things now.

"Please, Padme. Can you not tell us who -"

"We have discussed this." Her tone was flat with finality.

He hesitated. "If you're protecting someone -"

"Senator, please. There is no cause for alarm. We have far more pressing matters to deal with."

"Very well," he said, and they spoke no more of it.

* * *

Outside, the city of metal and glass was a blinding mirror of reflected light. Dazzling crystal whiteness and midnight blue lights burning indelibly behind his eyelids. Far above, the cruiser ships moved through the atmosphere like orbiting planets while down through the bands of swirling cloud, Speeders blazed past like tiny comets. Coruscant by night was a city of majesty, of magnificence and madness. Bail turned away from the view to face his immediate surroundings. The Chancellor's office was one of understated grandeur, bathed in soft, dark red hues, the colour of a bleeding sunset.

Palpatine was seated calmly before their woefully small committee, the dizzying metropolitan backdrop opening out behind him. The robes fell from his shoulders in heavy folds of soft darkness, shrouding his pale, inscrutable features. He had not even risen on their entering the office, content merely to watch them with that same unfaltering, unreadable expression. Bail could still remember - though it seemed lifetimes ago now - when Palpatine had merely been an obscure Senator from Naboo. And now the man was seated at the very pinnacle of the Galactic City with the entire Galaxy spread out below him. And he was comfortable with the power - too comfortable.

At the Chancellor's shoulder stood Jedi Knight Skywalker, wearing a grim expression. He was dressed entirely in black, and seemed to absorb all the warmth and light in the room. Although he had always been polite and deferential to Bail, the Jedi made no acknowledgment of his presence. Instead, the boy - no, he could not be called a boy any more - was staring at Senator Amidala with a strangely quiet, furious intensity. The presence of a Jedi in the Chancellor's private office did nothing to abate the Senator's inward concerns. It merely confirmed his silent suspicions that trusting the Jedi was not a risk he was willing to take.

"Senators." Palpatine's smoothly polite voice belied the cool expression in his eyes. "I understand you have matters that you wish to discuss with me."

Bail cleared his throat, throwing a pointed glance at Knight Skywalker. "Perhaps it is best if we speak in private."

The Jedi seemed to have taken Bail's comment as a personal insult to himself; anger flashed across his youthful face. He cast an appealing look at the Chancellor. At Bail's side, Senator Amidala looked uncomfortable.

"Anything you wish to say can be said in front of Anakin here," said Palpatine calmly.

"Very well." He could feel Senator Mothma's calming presence beside him, and this, more than anything, helped him go on. "There have been… concerns over some of the recent motions forwarded by the Senate."

"Such as?"

Bail swallowed hard. Clearly, the Chancellor was not going to make this easy for him.

"For instance… the most recent appointment of Governors. The forwarding of such a motion is in contravention of those doctrines set out in the Constitution. We could not help but that feel that the duties taken on by these newly appointed officials would be better delegated to those long-standing members within the Senate with the Republic's best interests -"

"You do not trust my judgement in these decisions, Senator?"

"Forgive me, your honour, but I did not mean to imply that -"

Senator Mothma tactfully intervened. She had an inborn gift for laying a soothing touch on volatile situations, her calm equilibrium commanding immediate respect from those around her. "What Senator Organa is trying to say, Chancellor, is that our loyalties lie with the Republic. We merely wish to see the Senate's return to democracy as soon as possible."

"As do I. And, as I have assured you repeatedly, I am doing everything within my power to see that these matters are resolved smoothly."

"We do not doubt you have the best of intentions," Bail affirmed, "It is just that a number of us feel -"

"I am well aware of your meetings."

A bolt of ice ran down Bail's spine. He knew. How did he know? They had been so careful… Beside him, he felt Senator Amidala tense

"Believe us, your honour, we had no subversive intentions. We merely wished to express our trepidation in regards to the direction the Senate has taken of late."

"I will be happy to alleviate any grievances."

"We do not speak merely of ourselves in these matters, but also..."

Palptine leaned forward, steepling his pale fingers beneath his chin. "There is something else you wish to say, Senator?"

His nerves felt like taut wires stretched to breaking point. He braced himself, weighing his next words carefully. "It has come to the attention of the Senate that there have been some rumours circulating since your return… whispers that you might have struck a deal with the Separatists -"

"That's a traitorous lie!" Knight Skywalker had taken a step forward, eyes blazing. He was breathing hard, gloved hands curled into fists.

"Anakin." The Chancellor's voice was quiet, yet firm. "I will deal with this."

"We in no way condone this gossip or fear-mongering. Just, with the ease of your escape, people have been asking questions -"

"'Ease of escape'?" The Jedi gave a derisive laugh. "Have _you _ever broken into a hostile stronghold, carried out a rescue and piloted half a ship?"

"Knight Skywalker, Senator Organa is merely repeating questions that have already been raised by others." Padme's voice was sharp. "It would do well for you not to speak on diplomatic matters that do not concern you."

A resounding silence followed her words.

Senator Amidala remained perfectly still, the colour high in her powdered cheeks. Knight Skywalker looked as though she had struck him. Bail glimpsed a flash of hostile energy between them that was startling.

Padme was cold and formal - more so even than usual - while Jedi Skywalker was gazing at her with a fixed expression of searing intensity that seemed to cause the very air around them to ripple in waves of heat. He opened his mouth to speak but, at a look from Palpatine, seemed to change his mind. The Jedi looked away, visibly angered.

Bail cleared his throat slightly in an effort to dispel the palpable tension. The Chancellor was smiling unpleasantly.

Senator Amidala seemed to come to herself. "I apologise, Chancellor," she said at last, not looking at the Jedi. "I spoke aggressively; that was not my intention."

"Of course." Palpatine's tone was one of thinly veiled ice. "Now, was there anything else?"

"No, your honour." Bail's voice was weary with resignation.

"Very well. I will look into these matters, which should be sufficient for your… _committee_." There was something in the Chancellor's expressionless look that chilled him to the core. "Good day to you."

* * *

They walked slowly through the cool emptiness of vaulted halls, the pillars throwing enormous shadows across the stone floor. Pale fingers of incandescent blue light streamed between the ornate columns, illuminating their figures like the faint images of a holovid.

Padme was the first to halt their progress, turning around in sweep of magnificent fabric that whipped against the smooth, polished tiles. "_How _can we allow this to happen?" Her voice, though barely above a whisper, was tight with anger. "The Chancellor's autonomy knows no bounds, and he clearly has no intention of relinquishing the authority the Senate has granted him."

"I am afraid Senator Amidala is right," said Mon Mothma. Her clear grey eyes were blazing with uncommon fire. "The Chancellor's words of conferring and deliberation are meaningless. Chancellor Palpatine essentially _is _the Senate. His wishes are law, such as these things go."

Padme set her jaw, hands clenching in her heavy skirts. "I still feel that we were mistaken in not alerting the Jedi to our intentions."

"We do not know how far under the Senate's sway the Jedi have become," Bail pointed out quietly. "They are bound by its mandates, just as we all are."

She turned to him, agitation evident in her delicate features. "Then all the more reason to garner valuable allies! I am sorry if I'm speaking in terms of taking sides - I have no wish to expound Separatist ideology - but it has become clear that our position is now a very isolated one. Not just isolated - Senator, we are downright powerless! We cannot make the Chancellor see reason ourselves - we _must _consult the Jedi Council."

"I fear it is too late for that, It would be unwise, especially now that the Chancellor has been made aware of our dissatisfaction. Any attempt to confer with the Jedi, should it reach the ears of the Chancellor, would be regarded as an act of outright sedition."

Padme gave him a penetrating look. "You think we approached the Chancellor too soon."

Bail sighed. "It is done now. We took action as we saw fit, and we always intended to act honourably, and with our loyalties to democracy our priority. But I think bringing the Jedi into these matters has ceased to become a viable option for us. And I fear the Jedi would not be receptive to what we have to say. Knight Skywalker has shown that there are those among the Jedi Council whose loyalties clearly lie with the Chancellor."

"Do you really think so?" she asked quickly.

"You saw for yourself how readily he came to the Chancellor's defence."

For a moment, her face turned startlingly pale, rouge-painted lips and darkly kohl-circled eyes standing out in vivid contrast. "Yes," she said grimly. "I did."

Senator Mothma's soft voice broke the pervasive silence. "What has become clear is that we must take more care now than ever. We cannot act rashly or with undue caution. There is little more that can be done tonight; we will discuss these matters further in the morning."

Bail nodded solemnly. "I agree."

"Then I bid you both goodnight." Mon Mothma departed, the voluminous train of white silk trailing in her wake.

At her absence, by mutual, unspoken consent, they moved into the blacker shadows thrown by one of the pillars, continuing to converse in low voices.

"We must hold out hope that the Chancellor will act with the Republic's best interests at heart."

"Unfortunately, I fear that the Republic's best interests, and the Chancellor's best interests are no longer the same thing."

"We cannot assume the worst." She fairly bristled with stubborn indignation. "So far we have done nothing wrong and I do not see why we should have to act as though our actions are reprehensible."

"Padme, be careful. With times such as they are… I fear for the Senate. For democracy."

She only nodded, her face a frozen mask of reserve. "You should take care yourself, Senator."

"It is not myself that I fear for. But… my wife. She knows nothing of these matters. I could not bear to think that my actions might endanger her by confiding our intentions to her."

Padme's dark eyes softened with sympathy. "You only did what you thought was right."

"Perhaps." His hand rested against the cold marble of the overshadowing pillar. The remnants of fear clung to him, like the memory of a half-forgotten dream. "You are fortunate you never married, Padme. The pain of keeping secrets from a loved one… I would not wish it upon anyone."

His words drew an unsolicited response from her. She started to laugh, her thin shoulders shaking violently beneath the heavy brocade, dark lips quivering in the ghostly light. Bail looked down at her in concern.

"Have I said something wrong?"

She only smiled absently, a little sadly. "No, Senator. If anything, you are too right."

And with that cryptic remark, she left him, once more with more questions than answers.


	9. Brotherhood

**Brotherhood**

Something was terribly wrong with Anakin, but Obi-Wan could not bring himself to speak of it.

Yet still that vague sense of unease began to trickle in, little by little. Perhaps it all had started when he had killed Dooku, certainly after they had returned to Coruscant. When Anakin looked through him, beyond him. He was distant, sullen and preoccupied. All that fire, that furious, concentrated intensity had turned inwards. The hair curled damply around his face, his blue eyes wide and dark, too heightened, too fevered. But if he was dreaming again, he gave no word of it. Obi-Wan sensed it, though, in the Force. It gathered around the dark lines and curves of Anakin like whispering shadows, clouds of ambivalence portending -

Portending what?

He knew there was something terribly vital they were all missing. But the Force no longer provided the answers it once did; whenever he tried to find that connection, he felt his mind sliding against walls like glass, the knowledge slipping away from him like smoke falling through his bare hands. But that absence in itself told him all that he needed to know.

Something was wrong. Something was coming. It was bigger than all of them.

He feared more than he ever had. He tried to hold those monsters at bay, tell himself that to surrender to those fears would lead him down a dark path, but still they crept in, whispering to him through the long nights and longer days. Things that had happened, things that were yet to come. Glassy waves of rolling heat, furnaces and blasted sands, the horizon ringed by fire. Endless hordes swarming over cracked earth and ships exploding with bursts of searing light in the galactic skies. He saw the blood of men he had killed, he saw walls of flame that could consume planets. And perhaps worst of all, he saw Anakin as the boy he once was, young and bright and eager. Then later as he left his Padawan status behind him, lazy, long-limbed and arrogant, and still brilliant as he had ever been.

And then the war came.

In some ways, it had been easier. Amidst the confusion of scorched metal and clouds and fire, there were commands to be followed, duties to be carried out. Not this bewilderment of hushed silence in Coruscant's echoing halls. And always this strange sense of falling, falling out of reality.

The war had both changed and not changed Anakin. That restlessness and energy in the days of peace had gained a focus that meant he never failed a mission, but it also awakened that uneasy rawness, the sense of wild power that made him believe he was invincible. That led him to kill Count Dooku, something that now filled Obi-Wan with nameless dread. Anakin killed as he did everything - with passion. It was too furious, too personal. _That is not how we are supposed to do these things_, he had tried to say afterwards, but Anakin had merely laughed, clapped him on the shoulder and said _you're just jealous I got there first, Master. _And the Holonet had proclaimed him a war hero.

Obi-Wan wondered if that was where this sense of wrongness came from. That Anakin craved the action he had found in the war (though in his heart, Obi-Wan knew it was something more), the ability to throw himself into battle. Now he just seemed to drag himself around in boredom, a solitary shadow restlessly pacing the vast and darkening corridors. Or he would disappear for hours on end and Obi-Wan knew that he was with the Chancellor. Anakin would return from those visits more volatile and agitated than ever, yet he never spoke of what passed between them in the secluded office.

It was that which worried him most of all.

He could never imagine a time when he did not know Anakin. They had been together for years, brothers bound by blood and duty and war. He knew everything about him; his ambitions, his annoyances, his fears, his love for Senator Amidala that neither of them ever spoke of. But now Anakin kept his distance and shielded his innermost thoughts and wouldn't tell him why. Obi-Wan watched him closely, tried to see what had changed, but for the first time since he had known him, Anakin remained secretive and elusive. Without that bond of loyalty and trust, Obi-Wan did not know himself. Did not know how they could survive this war. And for himself, he could not live without that lack, that missing half.

He wanted the Anakin he knew back. He wanted the gifted pilot, the rebellious Padawan, the reckless youth, the skilled warrior.

But most of all, Obi-Wan realised, he wanted his friend.

* * *

"Anakin, wait -"

The Jedi pushed ahead with swift, angry strides, the colour high in his cheeks. Obi-Wan hurried in his wake, boots thudding soundlessly on the long crimson carpet, his reflection rippling as he passed the blurred glass. The weather echoed his sombre mood. Rain pounded against the high windows, streaming down the circular panes in threads of quicksilver. Coruscant was lost in sea of cloud and mist, nebulous Speeder lights passing in rare, blinding flashes. The last few days had been like this, long and grey, gloomy and ambivalent. The clouds hung low and threatening, swathing the crystalline towers and shrouding the entire planet in this obscurity.

"Anakin."

Finally, the Jedi turned to face him. His gloved hands had clenched into fists. Beneath the voluminous cloak, his tall figure trembled with too much energy, as though unable to contain the emotion that shuddered through him. Obi-Wan felt the vibrations of disturbed air through the Force, an electric, potent charge.

"They can't do this -"

Obi-Wan raised a hand to quiet him. They couldn't talk about this here. It was too close to the Council Chambers, too close to possible unfriendly ears.

Anakin, unrelenting, scuffed a leather boot against the stone, eyes flashing with passion. "Those Masters - I have more power than any of them -"

"More power, and less judgement. A place on the Council so young - it is unheard of."

The younger Jedi took a step forward. Close like this, he was several inches taller than Obi-Wan, though it had not always been so. Pain tugged at the Master's heart just by thinking of it.

"After everything I have done in this war - I've _earned _that place, Master."

And there it was. His arrogance, always his arrogance. Always striving and seeking and overreaching himself. Obi-Wan looked at him, at the burning blue eyes, the feverishly flushed cheeks, the stubborn set of his mouth. Power radiated from him in invisible waves. Yet there was still something boyish about him for all that, something that told Obi-Wan that Anakin was not nearly ready for what might be coming. In truth, he was desperately unsuited to the political intricacies and the manipulative finesse required for such an assignment, and once again, Obi-Wan bitterly cursed the Council for placing him in this situation. Hands fisted in the rough-spun fabric of his brown robes with a gesture of uncharacteristic tension.

"I'm not denying your ability. But outbursts such as you demonstrated today - you are merely confirming the Council's decision to withhold granting you the title of Master."

Anakin fell silent, drooping lids veiling the ferocity of his gaze. Defiance and pride struggled in his face. "Then what would _you _do, Master?"

"Control your emotions. Keep your temper. _Listen _to the Council and heed their advice. Show patience, obedience and restraint. And above all, _stop_ these thoughts of jealousy and anger that are clouding your judgement. They will lead you down a dangerous road and I will not be here to protect you."

"I don't _need_ -"

"Anakin_. _I am not telling you this as your former Master, but as a friend giving you advice."

The Jedi didn't answer for some moments, but remained still, his face angled away, stiffened shoulders spread wide beneath his long cloak. Dimly, Obi-Wan could hear the faint drumming of the rain outside, the heavy sheets a veil between the isolated Council Chambers and the rest of Coruscant.

"You're right, Master," Anakin said finally, once more in his habitual undertone. "I'm sorry. Truth be told, you are the only one in the Order who does not treat me like an enemy or under suspicion."

Obi-Wan sighed, already feeling his sharpness softening. "If they treat you with suspicion, it is only because your friendship with the Chancellor has made you so. You have been placed in a difficult position, Anakin, and whether you realise it or not, Chancellor Palpatine has used you as a means of exerting greater influence over the Jedi Council."

"The Chancellor would not do that. He has shown me nothing but kindness and respect. And I don't see why my friendship with him means that I am regarded as a criminal."

"These are dangerous times. _Any_ influential power outside the Jedi is being regarded with suspicion - and that includes your friend Palpatine."

"You speak of looking inwards, Master. Isn't that a trait of the Sith?"

"This is a war, Anakin. Sometimes, we must do undesirable things for the greater good."

A shadow fell across the Jedi's face. He spoke, his tone low and deliberate. "So you would have me lie, and keep secrets, and turn against someone I consider a friend - maybe the Jedi and the Sith _are _more alike than I realised."

"Anakin, these thoughts are dangerous."

Eyes narrowed. Eyes so blue they looked almost black. In some moods there was no reasoning with him. "I wish to have no part in their political games," he said, a hard note of finality in his voice. "If the Council have issues with the Chancellor, they should bring it up in the Senate."

"Haven't you guessed yet, Anakin?" Obi-Wan ran calloused hands through his fair hair in agitation. "This assignment is about testing _your _loyalties just as much as it is the Chancellor's."

A reflection, a trick of the light perhaps, but Anakin's eyes seemed to flash gold in the grey obscurity.

"So I was right. They _don't _trust me."

The Master took a breath, willing himself to speak calmly. "You have given them little reason to. Try to see it from their perspective. You have used your position in the Chancellor's good graces to get yourself onto the Council, you challenged their decision not to grant you the rank of Master and you tried to put yourself forward for this mission to Utapau rather than listening to the wisdom of the Council. You have done little to earn the trust you want them to place in you."

"That is a lie! _Everything _I have done has been for them - this fighting, this war - I could have left - I could have turned way from the Order years ago. If you _knew _what -"

"Anakin, listen to me," Obi-Wan urged seriously. "I have spoken on your behalf to the Council. It is a lot they are asking of you, but if you do as they have asked, you will have earned their trust, and more. But in the meantime, tread carefully. Practice your mental exercises. Listen to your instincts. I hate to leave you in this situation, but the Council has requested I leave as soon as possible."

"To Utapau," said Anakin, and his mouth tightened.

"The sooner we find Grievous, the sooner we can put an end to all of this. When Grievous is gone and a measure of stability restored, it will become easier to discover where the Chancellor's loyalties lie."

If it were only so easy. Obi-Wan looked out the window, momentarily blinded by the sheets of cascading rain that were illuminated by the hyper-real gleam of the sprawling galactic lights. He wondered where on Utapau Grievous was hiding. The last tangible enemy left in this war. Neither human, nor alien, nor droid. And worse than any. How many causalities in this war could be laid at Grievous's synthetic hand? Just thinking of it made him want to kill that abomination with an anger he had been trained to let go of.

"I still think you are wrong. The Chancellor is not the problem in this war."

The Master sighed. "I hope for your sake that you are right."

"It's - it's _them… _the Senate, the politicians -"

"Assume nothing at the moment, Anakin. Watch, and wait. Do as the Council has requested you. Things will be clearer once Grievous is dealt with."

Anakin suddenly looked up pleadingly, ashen-faced, the long scar that bisected his brow standing startlingly dark in contrast. Staring at Obi-Wan through the fall of curling gold hair, he looked so much like the boy of years past that time seemed to have spiralled backwards to the days before the war, before everything had fallen apart. A pause lingered between them, heavy and potent in the dull, thrumming air. Beneath the layers of pride, it was there, unspoken. A plea, a cry for help. "Master… I can't do this without you."

Here then was a decision, a crossroads. If Obi-Wan had known that his decision could have changed the fate of the Galaxy, he might have hesitated. But he didn't. To disobey the orders the Council had given him never even crossed his mind. And so he unconsciously set in motion the events that would tear the world apart.

"I have faith in you, Anakin. You have become a far more powerful Jedi than I - now use what you have been taught." And he smiled, a firm hand grasping the younger Jedi's shoulder in reassurance even as he unknowingly sealed their fates.

"Good luck, my friend."


End file.
